


911? This is Dirk Strider.

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adorable, Cute, Elevatorstuck, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Sadstuck, Yaoi, diabetes warning, that tag has multiple meanings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:53:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk is claustrophobic and stuck in an elevator. Jake English is a 911 operator, and happens to answer Dirk's call when the power goes out. Cuteness ensues (and a bit of sadstuck and angst).</p>
            </blockquote>





	911? This is Dirk Strider.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea I had. Little two-shot story that I'm doing. Second chapter will be up after I update _Sell Your Soul_ again.

**_It all started the day you fell in love with a 911 operator..._ **

It’s the deepest of soul-crushing, depressing sighs that you release as you exit your small apartment, bag tucked neatly into your sylladex and hat dangling in your hand. Another shitty day at your minimum-wage job, forcing yourself to ask the most obvious and stereotypical question to ever hit the market.

Would you like fries with that? You fucking hate your job. But, you do what you have to do. Not like Bro is taking care of you.

You groan as you examine the caution tape stretched across the top of the stairwell, signaling maintenance. How the hell do you even perform maintenance on stairs? Is it just cleaning, or did some fatass fall through the steps and ruin it for everyone?

Ugh, whatever. You’ll just use the shitty elevator.

Elevators have always made you nervous. Ignoring the fact that some wires are lifting a huge metal box, but the small space has always made you uncomfortable. Anything smaller than an apartment makes you really fucking nervous, you hate small spaces.

Checklist: metal box, tiny fucking wires, and a space about as big to suffocate anyone bigger than the average poodle? Perfect.

Despite your inner tirade about the horrors of mechanical ascending and descending, you step inside and click the button labeled ‘1’. The automatic doors shut, and you press your back against the wall opposite door. The metal handrail digs into your back a bit, but you try your best to ignore it. You shut your eyes behind your shades, breathe through your nose; in, out, in, out, in, o-OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK?

The whole thing creaks, rattles, and comes to a halt. A red light above the floor number flickers on, just as that and the rest of the lights totally shut off. Everything falls totally silent, the air around you stolen away by the complete darkness that now surrounds you.

You try to scream, but nothing comes out. Instead, you shoot to your sylladex and pull out your phone to dial 911. You press it against your ear as it starts to ring.

“ _911 what’s your emergency?_ ” the man asks, a British accent making itself known on the other side of the call. You swallow nervously before shakily speaking into the phone.

“I-I-I’m stuck in an elevator at an apartment building on 11th, I’m stuck and I think the power went out,” you relay slowly, your breath hitching slightly halfway through the sentence.

“ _11th…okay, I’ve been told that power has indeed been lost in that area of the city,_ ” he says.

“Yeah I fucking know that, what do I do now?”

“ _Easy there, chap. Just take it easy, alright?_ he half-chuckles. “ _You’re not in any danger. How high is the battery on your cell phone?_ ”

You pull it away just to click the home button, the light from your tiny iPhone the only illumination in the tiny box aside from the red light hanging above your head.

“…a little under halfway,” you groan, only now realizing that you hadn’t charged it this morning. The man sighs on the other end.

“ _Well that’s unfortunate. Hey, what’s your name?_ ” he asks calmly. You breathe slowly, choking on your spit a little. Are the walls getting closer to each other? You’re pretty sure they are. And when did the air get so heavy? Hell, when did the air even come back?

“Dirk,” you whisper, not even sure if the phone picked it up. “My name is Dirk.”

“ _Hi, Dirk. My name is Jake,_ ” he tells you, and you can hear the gentle smile in his voice. “ _Okay, Dirk, do you have an app on your phone called Pesterchum?_ ”

“Yeah, I’ve got that,” you reply.

“ _Excellent! I’m going to hang up the phone in a moment, okay Dirk? I need your Pesterchum handle, if that’s alright,_ ” he requests.

The two of you exchange pesterchum handles, neither of which are extremely simple and eventually have to be spelled out individually.

“Okay, I’ll hang up now,” you whisper, your breaths shaky. “And you’re going to pester me, right?”

“ _As soon as we hang up. I’ll talk to you in a sec, alright Dirk?_ ”

“…okay,” you whisper. The line goes dead, and your screen goes black as the call ends.

Silence returns for a few very long moments. You remove your shades and set them on the metal ground as your back slides down the cold wall, allowing you to sit in the corner of the suspended elevator.

How did this even happen to you? You make it your life’s mission to avoid uncomfortable situations. Situational, relationships, small spaces. You prefer sitting in your room, playing with your puppets and fucking around on Tumblr, with the odd bit of robo-mechanics thrown in (you’re not quite as into it as you used to be).

Yet here you are, crammed in a small, dark, metal box, waiting for a boy to pester you. It’s almost poetic, you think. If you gave a shit about poetry that isn’t to a beat.

You’re tempted to put that in a rap now…but you suppose there are better things to worry about.

Your phone lights up again, signaling a new pester from _golgothasTerror_. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes into the heavy air as you unlock your phone.

_golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timeausTestified [TT]_

GT: Dirk, are you there chap?  
TT: Yeah, I'm here Jake.  
GT: Jolly good to hear!  
GT: How are you feeling?  
TT: Pretty fuckin uncomfortable to be honest.  
GT: Not one for small spaces, I take it?  
TT: Not in the least.  
TT: I make a habit to avoid pretty much anything that makes me this uncomfortable.  
TT: Darkness, small spaces, and elevators hung by fifteen year-old wires ranks pretty high on my list.  
GT: Golly, Dirk, over the phone you sounded a bit old to be scared of the dark.  
TT: I'm not afraid of the dark. Just what might be in it.  
GT: I suppose that's reasonable enough.  
GT: I don't suppose you can take comfort in the fact that you are the only one in that elevator?  
TT: I guess.  
GT: :)  
GT: Hey Dirk, how old are you anyway?  
TT: 20. You?  
GT: I just turned 23 last week.  
TT: Happy elated birthday then.  
GT: Aw, why thank you!  
TT: Sorry I didn't get you a present bro, I'll make sure to pick you one up when I get the fuck out of here.  
GT: Don't make a lad that promise, I'll hold you to it ;)  
TT: Yeah nevermind then, I'm broke as shit.  
GT: Haha, alrighty then! I'll let you off the hook.  
GT: THIS time!  
TT: You plan having conversations with me even after I get out of here?  
GT: I don't see why not!  
GT: You seem like a very sweet fellow :)  
TT: I'm swooning, don't tease a man like this.  
GT: :?  
GT: Oops! Haha  
GT: So Dirk, I don't believe I caught your last name.  
TT: I think I'd rather keep it that way if that's alright.  
GT: Oh, don't be silly! I'm a 911 operator, after all, I'd like to get this on file.  
TT: Speaking of which, what's a 23 year old man doing as a 911 operator?  
GT: Well, I have to pay those bills somehow! I just had a friend in the station.  
TT: I'm just saying, it doesn't feel like the dream job someone has when you get out of school you know?  
GT: I suppose it isn't ideal, you're right about that.  
GT: If it were up to ME, I'd be an archeologist! Exploring ruins and whatnot.  
GT: Seems like a right good time to me!  
TT: That does seem pretty sweet. Better than flipping fucking burgers like me.  
GT: Hey, wait a gosh darn moment! You got me off topic!  
GT: I was asking for your name.  
TT: Ugh fine.  
TT: Don't say I didn't warn you.  
GT: Oh, how bad can it be?  
TT: My name is Dirk Strider.  
GT: Strider?  
TT: Yup.  
TT: Hey Jake, you there?  
GT: Yes. So your brother is...  
TT: Unfortunately, yes. Dave.  
TT: And I think you're AFK again.

 

AND THERE IT IS LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. Exactly why you didn't want to tell him your name! As soon as anyone finds out that your brother is some bigshot actor, they treat you different. It's why you never fucking talk at work, so that people don't bother checking for your name or some shit. You're pretty sure not even most of your managers know, because none of them give a shit about you.

TT: Jake seriously I'm starting to freak out.  
GT: Sorry, lad! Just telling a coworker that I'm talking to a famous guy's brother!  
TT: Yeah it's a dream come true.  
TT: Let me just ruin your idol's image for you because my brother is a fucking asshole.  
GT: What makes you say that?  
TT: Let's start with the fact that I haven't even seen him in over a year unless it was one of his shitty movies.  
TT: Add that on top of the fact that he's rich as shit and hasn't bothered to send me a penny.  
TT: And just for kicks, let's talk about how the last time I saw him involved him being hammered.  
TT: So yeah, the Dave Strider you know is a fucking fraud.  
GT: Wow.  
GT: That's sort of a lot to take in :/  
GT: I rather like his movies, though!  
TT: How?  
TT: They're cheesy, overrated, and poorly executed.  
TT: Not to mention that their character development is absolute shit. They're so shallow it's disgusting.  
GT: Haha, quite the expert on modern cinema are we?  
TT: Not really, I read that in a magazine.  
TT: I've only seen like two of his movies, I couldn't take it anymore after those.  
GT: Well alright then.  
TT: Hey Jake.  
GT: Hm?  
TT: Tell me about your family.  
GT: My family?  
GT: My family is very small. But very close.  
TT: How small?  
GT: Myself and my grandmother. I don't know of any others.  
GT: But that woman means the world to me.  
GT: I never grew up in one place. Grandma took me all over the world as a child.  
TT: Your grandma sounds pretty awesome.  
GT: Oh, she is!  
GT: I think she'd rather like you as well, Dirk.  
TT: *swoons* Oh Jake, you want me to meet your family?  
TT: I don't know, it's all happening so fast.  
GT: What? Oh haha!  
GT: Very amusing, chap! I give you that one.  
TT: Thanks.  
TT: Hey Jake.  
GT: What is it now, Strider?  
TT: I'm afraid.

You can't stand this elevator. It's too dark, since the only light is coming from your phone (even the emergency light went out for some reason). The air is too thick and no matter which way you sit the metal is hurting your ass.

You know it's illogical. You know it'll be a few more hours at most until you're out. But none of this elevator shit is freaking you out.

No. It's _Jake_.

How long has it been since someone talked to you like this? Like, ever? Bro doesn't. Roxy barely has time anymore now that she hooked up with that Callie girl. Nobody at work knows anything about you. You didn't realize how lonely you've been until you're forcing yourself not to look away from the bright, tiny screen, a 911 operator on the other side of the connection.

GT: Strider, what are you so afraid of?  
TT: It's so stupid. It's just an elevator.  
TT: It's just...every time I look away from my phone, or forget to hit the home button, it's totally black again.  
TT: I don't know, just talking to you makes me feel better.  
GT: I'll stay here until you get out of that elevator, chap.  
GT: Don't you worry. :)  
TT: ...thanks, Jake.  
GT: This might be a bad time to say this, Dirk.  
GT: But I have to go for just a little while.  
TT: What?  
GT: Not long! I only need about ten minutes, and then I'll be right back on.  
GT: That okay?  
TT: I guess it has to be. Just hurry, okay?  
GT: I will.

_golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering timeausTestified [TT]_

The darkness comes back for a long while. You tell yourself not to check your phone, instead you just take it off silent and lay it on the ground. You lie down, too. You put your face on the cold metal, the smell of the iron making your eyes water.

No, it doesn't make your eyes water. You raise your finger to your cheek to realize that you're crying, hard. It all comes crashing down around you, before a tiny reminder nagging at you, now slammed full force without Jake to distract you. You think that's why you work so hard. On your robots, at your job, on your puppets. Looking at it from here, you don't think you care about much of anything outside of this elevator. Anywhere, really. You've been numb for too long.

Robots are sweet. You like the wiring, the rap-offs with Squarewave and the strifes with Sawtooth. You don't like your job, anyone with eyes could see that. Your puppets are cool, and anyone with eyes can also tell that Cal is a fucking boss. But you think you could go on without them. You could go on without your robots. You could go on without your job if it weren't for the money.

They just keep you distracted from the reality that your life is pretty fucking pointless. What would change if you weren't here?

_I wouldn't have gotten to talk to Jake..._

What's even up with Jake, anyway? He's a 911 operator, shouldn't he be dealing with other people's problems by now? At least three houses have been broken into since he first called you, why has he just kept pestering you? Maybe he took your Pesterchum so that he could take other calls while he stayed with you? His responses have been sort of slow, you suppose that's possible. On the bright side it's saving your battery, too, so that's a plus. Maybe he killed two birds with one stone?

You wish he hadn't stopped Pestering you. You like talking to Jake. You're pretty sure that single phone call included more dialogue with another person than you've done in quite some time. Maybe it hasn't even been that long, you just don't care about the people you _do_ talk to.

So why do you care so much about Jake?

He's funny. The way he talks (types?) is entirely out of this century, and after that one call you can't help but read his messages in that adorable accent. He's quirky, goofy, every other endearing adjective you can find for the dork. You don't get to use those kinds of words often enough, not since Roxy got a life that isn't being dragged down by your mopeyness.

You want Jake to come back soon. You want Jake to come back _now_.

Jake is taking longer than he said he would. You don't check your phone still, but you know it's been more than the promised ten minutes. In fact, you're willing to wager it's been nearly half an hour in complete silence.

You give up on waiting, and flip your phone open. You want to call him, but dialing 911 you can almost guarantee won't work. You settle for pestering him. 

_timeausTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT]_

TT: Jake are you there?  
TT: Jake I really need someone to talk to right now.  
GT: im here but my messaging will b limited for another minute or 2  
TT: Okay, I'll wait.  
GT: ty

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Jake's typing did change at the end for a reason! You'll just have to check back to find out why *wonk*
> 
> Thanks for reading! Props to Andrew Hussie for making these beautiful boys (and the other characters here; none are mine!).


End file.
